


"Sometimes... you can't help but wonder..."

by lolneptune



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi, Sort-of-infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 17:13:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9281720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolneptune/pseuds/lolneptune
Summary: Based on a suuuuuuper lovely piece o' fanart by Wasabeeb.tumblr.com!!!





	

**Author's Note:**

> THE FANART: https://wasabeeb.tumblr.com/post/154158497274/what-if

Diagon Alley was nippy and forgiving, a pale shade of April, and Ginny was so very, very happy. Harry could tell. At six oh three in the morning – and he knew this for sure, because he opened his eyes to it, because he slept with his back facing her – Ginny was upset because there weren’t any olives in the fridge.

“Harry, there aren’t any olives in the fridge!”

“What?” 

“Olives! The olives – are missing. You know I need olives! Harry – you know that! I told you to get olives!”

“What?”

They left at six fifteen, or something, and Harry walked half a pace behind her and rubbed her shoulder on their way to the market down the street where they purchased three jars of olives, and then Ginny insisted (gently) they go to the coffee place on the next block and get coffees and a fork, and she made Harry get the fork, because she didn’t want to be that kind of lady who stole forks to eat pickles from the jar at a coffee place. Harry nodded sympathetically at her face and stared at the gleam of pickle juice around her pink mouth as she vented to him about all the misfortunes of pregnancy. Harry thought, “I love my wife. I do. I support and cherish her. I love Ginny.” 

Ginny said, “You know what we need? A day in Diagon Alley. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? We can – you know, go to that little bookstore… I can ask about The Harpys of Quidditch, or whatever, and you’ll like the mystery novels, won’t you?”

Harry relaxed. “Yeah,” he said softly, smiling, even though he didn’t like mystery novels. Everyone seemed to think he liked mystery novels. He didn’t. 

Ginny smiled, pacified, and held a hand out for him across the table. He accepted immediately. He swiped little bumpy paths across her knuckles with his thumb. He stared into her eyes as long as she wanted. 

And now, it was twelve in the afternoon, and Harry was twenty three and married and only a little bit disheveled. His wife was happy, and he was in the right place, was nearly an auror, and aurors fought bad guys, and Harry fought bad guys. 

And Harry could see Draco Malfoy. In Diagon Alley, holding his wife like she might float away. Ginny was laughing gleefully about something – the hat? Or the Percy thing? – and Ginny was touching his back, pushing him (gently).

Dazed, Harry remembered the dream he’d had every night last month in which he held a cock on his tongue, thick and heavy, and looked up into eyes the color of damp slate. It was a coincidence, of course, a result of “It can’t be good for the baby, all that moving around.” 

Harry remembered something Hermione had said about second chances. What if Harry’d stayed? And helped? And spoken to him like they were both only teenagers?

Draco turned his head sharply – Harry felt like some tunnel had been sliced through the fuzzy air – and met his eyes. Eyes the color of damp slate. A coincidence. Harry didn’t think at all for a moment, didn’t nod or even look away. Draco’s face was not contorted, but something about his eyes – Harry thought: “That isn’t accusation.” His heart felt suspended.

Draco nodded, and Draco looked away before Harry realized it. Harry watched him go, and he wondered about second chances, and about staying and helping and speaking like adults. 

Sometimes, you can’t help but wonder.


End file.
